


You're The Worst

by Helianthus21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Hospitals, M/M, Road Trips, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2020-09-25 21:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20378761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helianthus21/pseuds/Helianthus21
Summary: Everyone in the corridor knows Dean Winchester. He’s loud, he’s rude and he’s shameless. He flirts with anything with a heartbeat, and for reasons that escape Castiel’s understanding, he is dearly cherished by everyone.Everyone but Castiel.Castiel has to share a patient's room with the most obnoxious person he has ever encountered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a tumblr post that I can't find anymore. The gist was two patients sharing a room who get on each other's nerves the whole time, but when Person B is discharged, Person A misses them. Person B comes back for a visit and they continue getting on each others nerves, but this time with love xD

Castiel harbors a great dislike for hospitals.

They are crowded, full of germs, and inefficient.

Inefficient not because he doesn’t trust the doctors and nurses to do their job – on the contrary, Castiel holds high regard for the professions of the medical sector. No, it is rather because being entrapped in a hospital room the size of a closet on an uncomfortable hospital bed and no reliable internet connection bereaves Castiel of all sensible opportunities for applying himself to his work.

It is frustrating, to say the least.

His phone has forsaken him the three times before when he tried to connect to the head office, and this time is no different. Castiel grumbles under his breath and pulls the useless phone off his ear.

“You ever relax, Novak?”

On second thought, Castiel will have to retract his statement. The worst part about hospital stays isn’t the inefficiency. It’s the people you have to endure because they are hospitalised with you in the same patient’s room.

“I do not think I told you my name,” is the closest thing to a diplomatic response Castiel can manage in the face of his roommate’s continued intrusion.

The other man grins insolently. “No, but I can read.” He points towards the name tag on the foot of Castiel’s bed. “You know mine?”

Castiel could peek over to the other man’s name tag as well, but he already knows what he’s called. Everyone in the corridor knows Dean Winchester. He’s loud, he’s rude and he’s shameless. He flirts with anything with a heartbeat, and for reasons that escape Castiel’s understanding, he is dearly cherished by everyone.

Everyone but Castiel.

In order not to give the man any ideas, Castiel ignores him expertly. He clenches his jaw and stares at the wall opposite, which is white and unassuming, a reassuring opposite to Winchester’s brash personality.

“Hello, will you answer me?”

Castiel doesn’t even grace him with a look. “I would prefer not to.”

He can only imagine the affronted face the man puts on after this. But he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t care. Lifting the phone back to his ear, he tries for another call.

***

Dean Winchester is loud.

That fact, among many others about the man, is grating on Castiel’s nerves.

It only makes sense that a man as loud as Winchester would be coming from a family of the same temperament.

Since sharing a room, Castiel has met Winchester’s brother Sam, what Cas assumes is his father Bobby, his sister-or-girlfriend Jo (Cas is at a loss in that regard) and her mother Ellen. Cas also learned that the Winchester family is acquainted with a morally questionable hacker named Charlie-something, a conspiracy theorist with the name Frank, and Pam the medium and Kevin the next president and – at this point Castiel had finally caught on to the fact that Dean was messing with him.

No one knows such a ragtag band of people. 

Castiel wouldn’t even _listen_ if they weren’t all so _loud_. And to think that’s only Winchester and his brother at the moment who are making all this noise, heads thrown back with laughter over something or other.

His head begins to throb again and he lifts a hand towards his temple in a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain through physical pressure and sheer force of will.

“You alright there?”

The question comes from the brother, Sam, and to Cas’ surprise he looks genuinely concerned. Castiel can’t imagine how he and Winchester share a bloodline.

“Just leave ‘im, he’s a delicate little plant,” Winchester immediately proves Castiel’s thoughts true. His younger brother presumably got all the empathy genetics while Winchester’s DNA was drenched with assholery. 

“I wouldn’t be so ‘delicate’ if your big mouth would take a break from the constant babbling now and again,” Castiel retorts. “I find your voice very grating.”

For the first time since he’s known the man, Winchester splutters. “I’ll show you my big mouth.”

“Really, Dean?” The brother raises an amused brow at him, before turning back to Castiel. “I’m sorry, man, we’ll keep it down from now on.”

“It’s _sir_, Sammy,” Winchester remarks testily. “Dude’s a noble.”

That tension around Cas’ jaw is slowly starting to reappear. “I am not a noble.”

Winchester doesn’t even look at him. “He certainly acts like a stuck-up prig enough to be one. Let’s not piss him off or he’ll throw us in the dungeons.”

“Dungeons haven’t been customary for centuries,” Castiel informs him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’m too much of a shitkicker to be educated proper.”

“Proper_ly_,” corrects Castiel.

“Jesus Christ,” remarks Sam.

At least Cas gets what he wanted after that because the room is covered in silence. The discrete shuffling of fabric tells him that the brothers are probably doing this nonverbal conversation thing that Castiel only knows in theory.

“Anyway, I’ll head out.”

Winchester’s head perks up. “Sammy, no, that’s what he wants.”

Sam sighs. “No, that’s what_ I_ want because I’ve still got paper work to do.” Sam pats his brother’s uninjured leg and moves towards the door. “I’ll bring you a change of clothes tomorrow.”

Once the door shuts behind him, Dean whips his head around to the other bed. “You’re the actual worst, you know that.”

Castiel doesn’t answer.

Winchester blasts his obnoxious rock music from his outdated radio until Castiel calls a nurse on him.

***

The next day after lunch, Cas’ phone call actually goes through.

He’s be more relieved if that weren’t the exact same time when Winchester’s whole entourage pays him a visit.

“Excuse me, can you repeat that?” Cas holds a hand over the ear that is more exposed to the Winchester clan’s bickering. “No, I’ve… I will send it to you as soon as possible, I- what?”

He’d stand up and go to the corridor, but his ribs are still hurting even just trying to sit up and he can’t let that weakness slip towards his boss.

His boss gives him a string of instructions and Castiel struggles to note them down on a stray piece of paper which crinkles on the unreliable surface of his blanket-covered thigh. “Alright, I will… get to that,” he promises, not knowing how he’ll manage any of it in his current situation.

He hasn’t noticed the deep sigh that presses out of him until he finds Winchester’s eyes on him. “Family call?”

Without thinking, Cas says, “Yes.”

Winchester blinks. “Wait, seriously?” he asks, forehead wrinkled in a way that can only be described as confusion. “I was kidding, that was what a social call sounds like for you?”

The whole Winchester clan, who has previously been busy discussing the state of the flowers on Winchester’s side of the room, is now directing their attention to Cas as well. It makes him uncomfortable, to be the focus of their scrutiny.

“It was no social call,” Cas explains curtly.

“You talk business with your family?”

“Yes, that was my brother Michael, he is my boss.” Castiel doesn’t know why he tells him this.

Winchester scrunches his nose up, and Castiel finds similar expressions of disbelief on the others’ faces. “He not know that you’re, like, out of action?”

“He does,” Cas says. “That’s no excuse to dawdle.”

“’Course it is,” Winchester protests. “Dude, that’s messed up, he’s your brother.” A look shot towards his brother Sam says everything Winchester thinks of Michael’s management strategies. “He should care more.”

Castiel turns away. “Just because you’re a ‘mother hen’ does not mean that everyone else should follow your example.”

He doesn’t look, but he thinks Winchester may be rolling his eyes. “Told ya he’s a robot,” he directs at someone among his visitors, or maybe all of them. Castiel doesn’t know. He’s had enough of their intruding eyes. He rolls carefully over to his left side, swallowing the grunt that threatens to escape him at the wave of pain shooting from his ribs, and stares at the door.

He closes his eyes, and pretends to be asleep for the rest of the visitors’ stay.

*** 

He must have fallen asleep for real, because when he opens his eyes again, the room is covered in blissful silence. All visitors are gone, and Castiel is once again alone with Winchester. 

Trapped.

Suddenly, the blanket over his body is feeling too hot. He feels like a chicken in a coop, it’s too _narrow_ in here. 

His breathing becomes short. His hair, under the bandage, feels soaked with sweat.

“Hey, you okay there, buddy?” A voice fights its way over through the congestion in his ears.  
  
Belatedly, distantly, Castiel realizes the voice must belong to Winchester.  
  
And truly, once he turns his head to the right, the man is staring at him through the dim lighting the moonlight offers, shining through the curtains.  
  
“I-” Castiel clears his throat. Tries again. “I'm fine.”  
  
“Sure don't look that way,” Winchester comments, but Castiel has already removed his attention from him, trying to breathe through his nose in a way that he hopes will make the panic attack recede.  
  
He hasn't had one of those in a while. He’s out of practise.

Winchester’s attention feels like a headache all by itself, his eyes that of a vulture, just waiting for the right moment to peck Castiel’s own eyes out. He doesn’t know if it’s genuine concern or malicious glee at seeing Cas like this. Doesn’t know which he’d prefer.

To distract, he takes a gulp of water. “I’m fine,” he says again.

“Sure,” Winchester repeats.

Pointing his glare over at him, Castiel notices the closed window. “There’s no air in the room,” he says.

He swings his feet off the bed and stands, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his head, the pain in his chest.

He needs to open the window.

“No, no, wait, I asked Sammy to close that!” Winchester says, when he recognizes what this action of Castiel’s leads to. “I get chilly!”

Pleased at having found a different outlet for his agitation, Castiel rolls his eyes at him. “I hadn’t realized you’re such a ‘wimp’, Winchester.”

He receives a glare for that, but with his leg trapped in a cast there is no other way for Winchester to protest. Getting up on his own would be even more of a process for him than it was for Castiel. Which is what he is counting on.

“You asshole, I’m getting a cold!”

“You’re not getting a cold from a little bit of a breeze.”

“Breeze? I’m already fucking shivering.”

“I need some air!”

“I’ll fucking steal your blanket!”

Castiel snorts. “I’d like to see you try, with that thing keeping you back,” he says, pointing at his cast.

Once he’s reached the other side of the room, sidestepping Winchester’s attempt to trip him up with his crutch, he can’t bring himself to open the window fully, however. So he just opens it a crack, keeping unspoken the kind of compromise he’s making.

Winchester ignores that fact too, and Cas is glad for it.

“If I get a cold, I’ll fucking send you the bill,” he says, as Castiel makes his way back to his bed. 

“I think I can handle that,” Cas says haughtily.

“Alright, Mr Workaholic.”

And that’s practically their way of saying good night.

***

When Castiel wakes up the next day, the bed next to him is empty.

It stays empty until breakfast arrives, stays empty while Castiel swallows down his meal, and it is still empty when the nurse comes to pick up the tray again.

“He got discharged today,” nurse Tessa tells him even though he has not asked.

***

If his condition had already improved so far that he could leave the hospital, Castiel wonders, maybe he let him have that win.

***

The atmosphere in the hospital is noticeably less jaunty without Dean there to flirt with the nurses and doctors and fellow patients.

Without Dean there to argue with him, Castiel regards the passage of time as admittedly dull.

***

When Doctor Milton stops by to let him know his ribs are healing well without posing any more danger towards his lungs but she’s still worried about his head trauma and would like him to continue therapy with a physician, she has a smile on her face the whole time. It’s not good news to Castiel, so he doesn’t know why she would be so excited for him.

A few minutes later, Dean Winchester strides right into Castiel’s room like he owns the whole hospital and Castiel wonders if Doctor Milton downplayed things because his head injury must surely be giving him hallucinations now. 

“Heya, grumpy,” Dean greets, waving a brown paper bag in his hands. “I come bearing gifts.

The paper bag lands on Cas’ lap while Winchester plops himself down on a nearby chair. Castiel stares at him owlishly, unable to believe his own eyes.

“It’s just a burger, dude, it won’t bite,” Dean says, nodding towards the still untouched paper bag.

Castiel’s fingers reach for it as though pulled by a string, and indeed, the intriguing smell of freshly acquired, sinfully unhealthy burgers hits his nose. Closing his eyes, he cherishes the way it fills a deep longing inside him.

“Never had one of those, huh,” Winchester guesses.

“I... don’t allow myself to. Not very often,” Cas admits. “Why are you here?”

Dean’s gaze is unnervingly steady as it returns Cas’. “You can say thank you, you know.”

A corner of Cas’ mouth twitches. It feels unfamiliar, to smile. “Thank you,” he says softly.

***

They go outside to eat Dean’s lunch on a bench. 

Dean has to help him down the stairs with an arm thrown around his back, which is a huge blow to Cas’ pride which in turn results in them stumbling down the last steps because Dean isn’t so steady yet either and they’re both too thickheaded to admit any of it. 

“Jesus, you’re heavy,” is Dean’s way to excuse his lack of muscle power.

“No thanks to you,” Cas huffs back. “You stole all my puddings while you were here, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Dean does something with his face that makes Cas want to punch him. “Please, you’re way too boring for puddings.”

Castiel stares ahead, hoping his expression broadcasts exactly how little he thinks of Dean. “I spat in each of them before you ate them.”

It’s a transparent lie, but it works because Dean’s eyes are wide when they turn to ogle Cas‘ profile. “You didn’t!” 

Cas’ smile must betray his lie because Dean slaps him on the arm. “You asshole, I bought you a fucking burger!”

“Which is soggy and clogging my arteries which probably means this is all an elaborate plan to murder me.”

“If I wanted to murder you, you’d already be dead.”

“Really,” Cas says dryly.

“I spent all this time in the same room with you, what do you think,” Dean affirms. “I woulda just flicked you against the head, woulda been enough for you whiner.”

Castiel just rolls his eyes. Tries to hide that stupid smile that threatens to take over his face.

“What happened to you anyway?” Dean asks after a prolonged moment of silence, gesturing towards Cas’... everything. 

“I fell out of a window.”

Dean’s eyes look like they’re about to jump out of their sockets. “Dude.”

“Unintentionally, of course,” Cas hastes to add. “A... former colleague fell with me.”

In his periphery, Cas notes an eyebrow shooting up in Dean’s face. “Fighting or fucking?” he asks and Cas nearly chokes on his piece of burger.

“F-fighting,” he admits. “He was about to ruin Michael’s career. The falling was an accident, though. We were not paying attention.”

Dean whistles. “Michael doesn’t deserve your loyalty, if you ask me.”

“You don’t know him.” Cas doesn’t know why defense is still his first instinct, when Michael hasn’t paid him a visit a single time during all his stay in the hospital. When Sam had been there for Dean whenever he could. 

“Do _you_?” Dean asks, and Cas supposes that’s fair.

He doesn’t answer. There’s nothing _to _answer.

So, “Why were you here?” he asks back.

“Car accident, basically,” Dean reveals. “My apprentice, he’s... doesn’t matter, he means well. Anyway, nearly got my leg squashed. Not the first time to fuck up my leg, so. There.”

“I fell onto a car,” Cas says. If Dean doesn’t want to talk about how he got his leg ‘nearly squashed’, Cas thinks, he doesn’t have to. “I suppose that counts as a ‘car accident’ as well.”

Dean snorts at that. “How’d the other guy look?”

Cas shrugs. “He was still able to run away, so I suppose he’s fine.

The laugh that leaves Dean’s mouth is so melodic, Cas wonders if there’s any other sound in the world that could rival its beauty. “Man, what did you do wrong?”

“He was so fortunate to grab onto a balcony railing a story below,” Cas relays. “That way he could break his fall more elegantly than I managed.”

“Well, lucky you,” Dean says, and Cas is no expert in social interaction, but that’s a weird way to respond to someone else’s accident, even to him. 

But Dean smirks at him unrepentant. “If the roles were reversed, there would be some other stuck-up office douche on this bench with me,” he says. Lifts a shoulder in consideration. “Probably be making out by now.”

Cas looks at him. “You’d make out with Virgil?”

Dean shrugs. “At least _he _has the sense to not get his ribs and head fucked up.” Then: “_Virgil_, really?”

“He comes from a conservative family.”

“Unlike you,” quips Dean. And then he completely butchers Cas’ name, stretching the ‘ie’ until it sounds more like Ca-steelle than anything remotely correct. 

Another few moments pass in which neither of them says anything. The burgers are scarfed down, and Castiel’s fingers are playing nervously with the bag before he throws it into a bin nearby. It hits its target. 

He turns to Dean. “You’d make out with a stuck-up office douche?”

Dean grins. “Not _any_ stuck-up office douche.”

And then he leans forward.

And, finally, kisses him.


	2. We're the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn’t get the relationship he has with Cas. Because Cas, for him, is stored in his memory as the rude as fuck patient everyone in the corridor was trying to avoid. They’re like sprinkling oil into a kitchen fire, Sam says. 
> 
> He’s mostly wrong, of course. 
> 
> But he might’ve been onto something with the road trip thing being a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two assholes on a roadtrip. Dean PoV

Dean arranges the bottles of water and beer in the cooler before loading the whole thing into the backseat of his car.  
  
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sam stands with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down to his brother like the very picture of disapproval, signalling to him that_ no, this is definitely not a good idea_, before Dean can even answer.  
  
“I mean, you guys basically just fight all the time,” he goes on. “Imagine that on an eight hour car ride where neither of you can escape when things get rough.”  
  
“We’re doing this, Sammy.” Rolling his eyes, Dean heaves the second duffel bag into the trunk, grunts dramatically at the unexpected weight. “The hell did you pack, whole ass bricks?”  
  
Castiel marches out of the house with a bag of snacks in his arms. Probably all rabbit food, Dean wagers gloomily. Good that he thought to hide his stash of beef jerky and M&Ms in his Baby long before Cas appeared with his own luggage, his own very wrong idea of a good time.   
  
“Just the essentials,” answers Cas crisply.   
  
Stretching his back, Dean eyes him, one brow raised to the line of his hair. “Uh-huh.” He moves, and the zipper of Cas’ duffel is opened before Cas can so much as let out a warning shout. “Cas,” he scolds, staring down at the infernal device that poses as Cas’ laptop. “We said no work on vacation.”   
  
“It’s not for work,” lies the liar. “It’s for, uh, ‘watching Netflix’ in the evening.”  
  
He’s actually using finger quotes, the dweeb, as if there’s so much as a chance his idea of _ Netflix and chill _ is anything other than painfully literal.   
  
“Nice try,” Dean says. “This thing’s not coming with.” And he pulls the laptop out of the bag by thumb and forefinger, as if the merest touch could infect him with workaholic-itis and transform him into a bore just like Cas.   
  
“No, you don’t hold it like – give me the–” Cas dives forward to catch his dearest possession before Dean can accidentally let it slip through his fingers. Cas cradles the thing in his arms like a fragile baby. 

The plan where the laptop dies a tragic, unexpected death foiled, Dean narrows his eyes at him. “The thing’s not coming,” he repeats with finality. 

“_Your _ thing is coming. I demand equality,” argues Cas, angling his body to shield the laptop from Dean’s contemptuous gaze. 

“Yeah but _ my _ thing is the car that brings us places,” Dean reminds him, and he likes to think this line of argumentation gains him the upperhand. 

“Your thing is a gas-eating deathtrap on four wheels.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him. “I’m gonna drive us places with shit to no WiFi,” he decides and nods, satisfied with his retribution.  
  
“You–” Cas begins, vitriol in his voice.  
  
But Sam interrupts his impending torrent of curses. “See, that’s what I mean.” He gestures between the two of them as if presenting the key piece of evidence in court. “I’m giving you guys two hours,” he decides. “By then I’ll probably be scraping one of your’s remains off some street in the middle of nowhere.” 

Sam doesn’t get the relationship he has with Cas. He’d been totally dumbstruck when Dean told him that his asshole hospital roommate was now also his asshole romantic partner. He’d been seconds away from suggesting his head be scanned in case his leg wasn’t the only thing damaged in the car accident. 

They’re like sprinkling oil into a kitchen fire, Sam says. 

He doesn’t get that that’s exactly what excites Dean about Cas. Cas keeps him on his toes, keeps the flame between them alight, and Dean craves the way that makes him feel alive. With Cas, the grocery store becomes a war zone. Movie night a court case. 

It’s fun.

It’s passionate. 

And beyond all that is the way they understand each other. How Cas lets Dean take care of him in the gruff, understated way of his, and how Cas thanks him with his stupid snide remarks that do little to hide the softness around his edges. Sam knows nothing of the times Cas tries to cook meals for him that end up tasting like rubberband when Dean’s back aches too much from work to get back up from the couch. Or the times Cas nuzzles his neck like a touch-starved kitten as they huddle close in the afterglow. 

Sam doesn’t get all that because Cas, for him, is stored in his memory as the rude as fuck patient everyone in the corridor was trying to avoid. 

He’s mostly wrong, of course. 

But he might’ve been onto something with the road trip thing being a bad idea.

***

They’re at each other’s throats by hour two-and-a-half. Dean knows because he checked the clock just so he can rub it into Sam’s face later that he was off by about half an hour. 

The first mistake was for Cas to reach for the tape deck to forward to the next song or, god forbid, eject the whole cassette. Naturally, Dean has to slap his hand away before Cas can follow through with his evil plan.   
  
“Ow!” Cas complains dramatically. _ Baby_, Dean thinks. The hit wasn’t even that hard.

“Driver picks the music, Cas, them’s the rules!” Dean reminds him firmly.

“And the rules are laid down by whom again?”  
  
“By the driver, of course.”  
  
Cas shifts in his seat, impatient. “_I _ can drive.”  
  
Dean scoffs. “Over my dead body.”

He feels Cas’ glare on him, hot and vengeful. “I can drive,” he repeats, and his tone allows no argument. 

But he’s barking up the wrong tree. Baby is Dean’s territory, and he’ll defend it against anyone, even the one who gets him laid spectacularly on a regular basis. 

“Babe, you can boss me around anywhere else. But here, _ I’m _ the authority.” He pats Baby’s leather gently to accentuate his point. 

Cas narrows his eyes at him in a way that promises nothing good, but then his attention shifts, and he snatches something out of his veggie snack bag. His gaze turns to the scenery that flies by them outside, and Dean’s almost lulled into the false sense of security Cas set up if not for the _ smell_. 

“The fuck is that,” Dean demands, holding a hand before his nose. 

“Tuna salad sandwich,” Cas replies with angelic innocence. “Organic.”

“A crime against nature, that’s what it is.” Dean fake-gags a couple times in the hopes of spoiling Cas’ appetite.

But Cas just turns a cool look on him. “With both my hands on the wheel, I wouldn’t be able to eat this,” he points out like the evil genius he is. 

One miscalculation though – Dean’s been on hundreds of roadtrips like this with Sam’s burrito-digesting ass. So he just rolls down the window and, to Cas’ immense displeasure, endures. 

***

It all escalates on hour five, when Cas points out, “We’re lost.”

Irritated, Dean shakes his head. “Nah, we’re not. I know exactly where we are.”

Cas is raising a brow at him, Dean knows that as a fact without even dragging his eyes away from the road. “Do you.” The dryness of his voice makes it clear how absolutely moronic Cas thinks he is.

His hand clenches tightly on the steering wheel as he grits out, “Yes.” Doubting his driving skills and sense of direction is the fastest way to drive him up the wall, and Cas knows it.

Like a highly disappointed wife, Cas draws out his sigh. “We should ask someone for the way.”

Dean steers Baby to the side and jams on the brakes so hard, they’re both catapulted forwards before the seat belt throws them back into the seat. Behind them, someone yells obscenities and a car honks angrily as it passes them. 

Turning his head slowly, Dean says, voice dangerously low, “You did not just suggest that.”

“I did, in fact,” Cas says back, calm as anything, as if his heart isn’t beating like a jackrabbit against his ribcage from the unexpected halt. “And since you pulled up already,” he continues on this perilous path, unbuckles his seat belt. “We can now find someone to give us the directions.”

“If you step out of this car, Novak, I swear I’ll leave you in this godforsaken town and you can _ walk _the rest of the way.” 

Looking straight at him like a cat pushing a glass off the desk, Cas steps out of the car.

Dean takes a moment to gape at Cas, digesting the betrayal. “Okay, that’s it,” he says as soon as he recovers, and restarts the car. He doesn’t stay to watch Cas approach a helpful looking lady with a map. 

***

Half an hour later, he pulls up at the small town’s only diner. 

Cas is sitting inside. His booth’s purpusoley facing the door but his gaze is equally purposely focussed on his plate.

Dean slides onto the seat opposite him without a word. The waitress comes over and he orders a bacon cheese burger with chilli fries and a coke and waits for his food to arrive.

Only when the burger is placed in front of him and he’s taken a sip from his glass does he break the silence. “So, you know where to go now?”

Face unreadable, Cas meets his gaze. “We have to go back and take the second exit on the highway,” he offers.

“Good,” Dean says, taking another bite of his burger. “Good. I knew that.”

A small smile slips onto Cas’ face, there and gone again, but not unseen. “Of course.”

Cas orders apple pie to-go and hands it to Dean. Dean hands him the car keys in return. As they leave the diner, Cas hooks an arm under Dean’s and rests his head on his shoulder briefly. 

They listen to Zeppelin as Cas leads them back onto the highway. 


End file.
